


wolf's clothing

by sister_coyote



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Costume Kink, Crossdressing, Disguise, Double Penetration, Multi, Shinra, Threesome, Turkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-23
Updated: 2007-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clothes make the woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wolf's clothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ponderosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/gifts).



"We'll switch Rufus out for the body double here," Tseng said, making a mark on the schematic, "and I'll get him out through this access tunnel, here. Reno, Elena, you stay with the double. Rude, I want you to break off here and bring the car around to here to meet Rufus and myself. Then you two will get the double out this way, around the crowd and through the conference center, and wait in the antechamber here until we come back for you. It should be fairly straightforward."

"Problem," Reno said, propping his elbow on the table. "We need a body double."

"We'll call Marcus in," Tseng said. Reno shook his head.

"Dead."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Apparently he looks a little bit _too_ much like the boss. Somebody shot him in the back a month ago."

Tseng laid his pen down. "That is a problem, then. We have . . . " he checked his watch " . . . fifteen hours to find a new double, or we need to scrap this and start over."

Elena swirled the dregs in her coffee cup, trying and failing to think of a good source of 'people who look like Rufus Shinra.' Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rude staring at the ceiling, presumably immersed in the same task. It wasn't like fair blond pretty boys were thick on the ground, more's the pity.

"Hey," Reno said. The tone of his voice—his bright, I-have-a-great-plan voice—made her flinch all by itself. The last time she'd listened to him in that mood, they'd somehow managed to light the canal on _fire_. "I have an idea."

"What?" Rude said, but Reno didn't answer. He was looking straight at her. After a moment, so was Rude, and then Tseng.

"What?" she asked, tapping her pen on the table, annoyed at the stares.

"You know," Tseng said, "I think that might actually work. Skin tone and hair color are remarkably close—at least as close as Marcus."

"You're kidding," Elena said.

"Rarely," Tseng replied with a hint of a smile.

Her mouth opened. Closed. "My eyes are the wrong color. I'm too short." There was a small part of her, a small but insistent part of her, that was saying _Stop_ _arguing_. _You_ _know_ _you've_ _always_ _wondered_ _what_ _his_ _clothes_ _feel_ _like_.

"Contacts are easy to come by—if they're even necessary, which, at the distances we're talking about, might not be the case. Similarly, we can use boots with heels—but again, the match doesn't need to be too close. No one but Reno will be closer than twenty or more feet from you." Tseng was already making rapid notes, as if the matter was decided. Which it probably was. "Besides, this will remove one of the more annoying variables, which is whether we can trust the competence of the double."

"Thank you, sir." Elena gave it one more try anyway. "But, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm _female_." _Probably_ _silk_, said her recalcitrant subconscious. _And_ _loose_ _comfortable_ _silk_, _not_ _like_ _women's_ _formalwear_.

"At that distance, and with the clothing Rufus prefers, I doubt it will matter."

"Anyway, Rufus can look pretty damn girly," Reno said, giving her his bad-idea look: lowered eyelids, little smile. "C'mon. You just don't want to admit that the idea of putting on Rufus' clothes gets you hot."

To her shame, Elena felt herself flush a little.

"That's what I thought," Reno said.

* * *

The clothes were disgustingly comfortable, although there were way too many of them. Two shirts, a vest, a jacket and a greatcoat, plus the pants and boots: black and white, silk and linen. The natural fibers kept his clothes from being too stifling, but still all the layers trapped a lot of heat. She was afraid she would sweat and melt the gel keeping her hair in a more Rufus-esque hairstyle. The heat notwithstanding, though, there was something about the change . . .

"Is this going to work?" she asked, trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror. Her face was her own, but otherwise she did look quite a lot like Rufus; it was fortunate that his clothes were loose enough to hide the different shapes of their bodies, although her breasts were held mercilessly down to keep them from any telltale bouncing.

Tseng just nodded. Reno, by contrast, provided commentary: "Flip your hair. He does that _all_ the time."

She rolled her eyes.

"What? He does."

She slid a hand under her hair and executed a Rufus Shinra trademark hair-flip.

"Ooh, _nice_." Reno laughed. "You been practicing? Now give me an I'm-ten-point-four-million-times-better-than-you glare."

"_Reno_."

"No, that just looks like a mildly annoyed seventeen-year-old."

* * *

Elena loved her Turk uniform. It had got her through many times, good and bad; it was much sturdier than most women's clothing; it was comfortable; it didn't hinder her movement; it was easy to take care of; she could hide an astonishing number of weapons in it without even a bulge; and, most importantly, it marked her as belonging to the team.

Rufus' clothes had a different set of advantages: they felt incredibly good, made her want to squirm just to feel the way silk and linen moved on her skin (she restrained herself, at least when others were looking). Rufus, having grown up privileged, presumably was used to the feel of expensive custom-tailored clothing. She was not. The clothes made her skin prickle. More than that, something about impersonating Rufus made her stride longer, the set of a jaw a little different. _They_ _say_ _costumes_ _are_ _powerful_, she thought, as she slid into the access tunnel and prepared for the switch-off.

Tseng stood with his back against the wall of the tunnel, unspeaking, trusting her to know what to do and when to do it, and damned if that didn't still give her a little thrill of pleasure.

Reno and Rufus crossed by the access tunnel, and in the moment they were out of the public eye she ducked out and Rufus ducked in. She saw his gaze catch and linger on her even as he vanished into the shadows, and his eyes, seeing her in his clothing for the first time, were narrowed, fierce, speculative.

"Show's on," Reno hissed, and then they were stepping out into the public eye. She kept her chin up, her stride confident, bootheels loud on the flagstones, intoxicated with the weight of gazes—unfamiliar; Turks belonged in the shadows and the sidelines, and here she was outlined in blazing white in front of everybody. For just a few minutes, but—

"Almost there," Reno murmured, as much to himself as to her. His entire demeanor was alert, as if he were really guarding Rufus instead of her. He pulled open the glass doors of the conference center, and she stepped into the dimmer light there, and then down a hallway to the antechamber where they would wait for the signal from Tseng. Reno pulled his gun—if they were going to be ambushed, it would be here—and she put a hand on her hip, the better to reach for the shotgun behind her back if need be.

Reno pushed open the door and checked the room, gun drawn. Then he said, "Clear," and she rounded the corner and let the door fall shut—and immediately his hand snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She thought briefly about pulling away and decided not to. The constant rustling brush of linen, the soft silk of the shirt, made her skin tingle. Reno rubbed his hand deliberately along her belly and hip and said, "You look fucking _criminal_."

"Ahh," was the most coherent thing she could manage as he holstered his gun and got both hands on her, one tracing down her hip and the other sliding up to feel the subdued curve of her breasts bound flat under the shirts. Normally, she wouldn't have done this sort of thing on a mission, but they had nothing better to do for the next little while . . . and this whole mission was messing with her head in a big way.

"Seriously," Reno continued. "God. I knew it was a good idea, but I had no idea how good . . . " She arched back against him, and felt him hard against the small of her back. Which meant that Rufus' concealed holster pressed against Reno's hip. He startled a little. "You have the shotgun."

"Seemed stupid to go unarmed when his usual outfit has a convenient place for one," she said. Reno's breathing went a little bit more ragged, and he splayed his hands across her stomach, grinding against her.

"Fucking hell," he said. "I like the way you think."

She rubbed deliberately against him. His fingers pressed harder against her, his skin hot and demanding, dipping down to tug her shirts free and slip under to stroke bare skin.

"You do know I'm not him," she said, her breathing coming shorter, "right?" That felt amazing, but she did want to know —

"Hah," Reno said, dragging his mouth wet down the side of her neck. "Yes. It's fucking hot knowing that you look like him but if I put my hands down your pants I'll find a nice wet pussy." She caught her breath again on a sharp, needy little noise. "You are wet, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Fuck. Yeah."

"And so _fast_, too." His voice dropped, and she felt him trace the tip of his tongue along her jawline. His hands dipped beneath the waistline of her pants. "I don't think it's all me, either. I think half of why you're fucking hot for it right now is that you get off on dressing up like the boss." One of his hands slid up, over her flat stomach, and the other sank lower until the tips of his fingers were just above her curls. She bit her lip. "What is it? Is it the power thing? Is it that his clothes feel really good? 'Cause I know they do. Or is it that you really want to screw Rufus, want to get under his skin good and proper, and this is the next best thing?" He paused, holding quite still.

She made a frustrated noise, and reached back to palm his erection through his pants. He hissed. "Don't _stop_," she said.

"So answer me."

"Nnng. You bastard." She tried to catch her breath. "A little of all of them."

He obligingly slid his hand lower, teasing her slick lips. "You _are_ wet. I thought you were hot for Tseng?"

"And I've got your hand down my pants. I can't want more than one person?"

"Greedy," Reno breathed, hot against her ear. "No wonder you play Rufus so well." He crooked his fingers, sliding along her cunt, almost but not quite where she needed him. "Toss your hair for me."

She dragged in a harsh breath. "What?"

"You heard me."

She couldn't think of the appropriately scathing words for that, not with his fingers almost almost almost where she wanted them but not quite. Instead she craned her neck and glared daggers, and he snarled a laugh against the side of her neck and said, "There's the Shinra glare. I knew you could do it." And he pushed his fingers in, not gently—his long, callused fingers, rubbing against her, until he was buried all the way in and the heel of his hand rocked against her clit.

"Oh god," she said.

"See, it's going to be your lucky day," he hissed against her ear, thrusting into her, rubbing her walls, searching, "because I'd put good money down that Rufus will be dying to fuck you as soon as you're both free. You're not hard on the eyes, we've all noticed that, and you can blow shit up and everyone knows that's an attractive trait, and that plus the fact that he's a narcissistic brat at heart and you really look an awful lot like him, well, he won't know what to _do_ with himself, he'll be so hard for it."

Elena rolled her head back and concentrated on not making too much noise as Reno's fingers sought and found exactly the right spot. She fumbled with his pants and got a hand inside, closing around his dick and squeezing. "I think you just want someone who looks like the President on your cock," she said.

"What I really want is for Rude to be here. Get you down on your knees to suck _him_. Stretch out your pretty mouth, get him all wet. Then maybe when you're both moaning, get down on the floor with you, fuck you nice and slow while you suck him off." Elena moaned despite herself. Reno's mouth pressed open and wet against the nape of her neck. "That sound good to you?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said. "God, yes."

"Too bad Rude isn't here," Reno said, and then, finally, mercifully, he picked up the pace. She arched against him, jerking him off with fast strokes made slightly awkward by their position while his fingers pushed into her. "We'll have to save that for another time. When we don't have to stay so quiet, because it'd really be a shame not to hear your moans go all broken around his dick."

Elena closed her eyes, biting back the sounds she really wanted to make—by nature she was almost embarrassingly loud. Reno was arrogant and obnoxious but god he had clever fingers . . . and her legs shook and she bit her lip until it chafed to hold back her scream as she came, throbbing around his hand. He breathed ragged in her ear as she kept stroking, smearing his precome down his length to make the motion easier—until he started to swell under her hand, and he nudged her out of the way and exhaled hard and came.

"Can't get your pretty white clothes dirty _yet_," he said.

Elena wasn't confident that they'd cleaned up quite well enough—her hair was coming loose from the gel and falling into face, and she kept having to push it back, and every time she did, Reno snickered. And Reno had the sleepy-eyed look of someone who'd just got off, and she was sure it was obvious she'd been gnawing on her lip. But it would have to do.

"Yeah, we're totally going to have to do that again with Rude," he said. "'Cause I'm betting you'll bag Tseng _and_ Rufus tonight if you play your cards right, and then you can collect the whole set."

So she wasn't terribly surprised when, twenty minutes later and finally back in headquarters, she found herself alone in the hallway with Tseng right at her shoulder. She was even less surprised when he touched her shoulder briefly to stop her, and then ran his fingertips deliberately over the lock of hair that refused to stay put, brushing it back behind her ear. It was a question—delicately put, subtle, even smooth, but a question nonetheless.

"Elena," he said.

"You know, I'm going to develop a complex if you all keep suddenly want to sleep with me the minute I look like him."

"Mmm." Tseng wasn't touching her, but he was so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "But that's not it. Or not all of it, anyway." She turned her head to look at him, and his expression alone could have fueled her fantasies for months: eyes heavy, dark, intent. "You look like him, but you also look like yourself. It's more . . . the way you move changed. The way you walk. Something—brisker, but more sensual. And more confident."

She hesitated, and then thought, _oh_, _who_ _am_ _I_ _kidding_? and nodded.

* * *

She was also not surprised that Tseng led her to Rufus' apartment, or that he was there. He looked different; as soon as she took over, he'd stripped down to just a black shirt, to change his silhouette, make him less recognizable. It was really odd to see Rufus in just a shirt, just one shirt, and a black one, too, that made his hair look fairer, his eyes bluer. He was looking her up and down, slowly, like something he wanted to memorize. She could see Tseng at the periphery of her vision, taking off his tie.

"Like the clothes?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes," she said. "Too warm, though."

Rufus smiled slowly. "I would say 'take them off and get comfortable,' except I don't think I want you to."

"You all have a serious fetish about these clothes, don't you?"

"Don't you?" He put his head to one side, got up and crossed to stand next to her. He smelled good, like expensive aftershave deftly applied, so that she didn't notice it until he was right next to her. "But really I think it's the way they put you in an entirely different . . . context. Are you protesting?"

Her heartrate jumped. "No. Although I do think it's partly that you want a chance to screw yourself."

"Probably," he agreed. "But not right now. I think first I want to watch, first."

She didn't wait for Tseng to touch her. She thought, _that's_ _an_ _invitation_ _if_ _I've_ _heard_ _one_, and then, giddily, _Rufus_ _wouldn't_ _wait_, and turned around, and hooked a leg around Tseng's hips, and pulled him down to the bed.

He didn't take off all her clothes. He pulled off her pants, slowly, watching with evident fascination as she drew her legs out of the too-wide trousers, and her underwear, and he slid a hand up to unhook her bra so that her breasts moved freely under the shirts. But he didn't take them off; it would spoil the illusion. She didn't wait to see if he was planning on stripping down himself: she got his pants open, dragged them down far enough, and settled down straddling his thighs. She was intimately aware of Rufus gaze on her. And Tseng's: the way he was looking at her, her face, her body, his gaze dropping between her legs as she parted her folds and rose up on her knees, she was pretty sure he wasn't just doing this because Rufus wanted to watch them. Tseng's hands settled on her hips and tilted her back a little, changing the angle to something that gave a better view, and she sat right down onto him. Reno's fingers had stretched her out good, so she didn't need to go slow.

It was worth it just for the way Tseng's eyes went wide and he said, "Holy fuck." He never swore. It was also worth it for the way Rufus stopped breathing for a few seconds.

But Rufus never shut up for long, and as she started to move, spreading her thighs, letting the greatcoat puddle around her and feeling her breasts moving under the silk of his shirt, she heard Rufus ask in a thick voice, "Good?"

"Ahh," she said by way of answer, and Tseng said, "Yes," hoarsely.

"Tight?" he asked. "Wet? Does he fill you up, Elena? Let me see."

She whimpered, nodded, reached down to spread her labia so he could see Tseng's cock—shining slick with her arousal—sliding in and out. The edge of Rufus' vest came down far enough to almost obscure the view—but not quite. Tseng murmured something and shifted and sent a wave of heat through her, so that she had to grab his shoulders and lean on him for purchase. Rufus said, "With your face against his shoulder like that, it looks like he could be fucking me instead."

"Doesn't feel like it, though," Tseng said. He slid his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts.

"No," Rufus breathed, "I don't have the right—but she _does_ have—" And Rufus snapped something open where she couldn't see it.

Elena lifted her head, comprehension dawning. _Oh_. _Oh_. _It's_ _not_ _that_ _he's_ _planning_ _to_ _wait_ . . . .

Rufus pushed the end of his coat off to one side, shoved the mess of shirts out of the way. Tseng slid his arms around her waist, under the coat, and pulled her against him. The motion lifted her ass a little and she was sure that wasn't coincidence. She felt Rufus' fingers press slick and cool against her opening, and she caught her breath but didn't say no in that moment when he hovered waiting. He pushed two fingers into her, slowly but not hesitating.

"Oh," she said. "I—" It felt weird, strangely full—she'd experimented some herself, but her fingers were smaller, and —

"She's a lot smaller than you are," Rufus said, and she was three-quarters sure he said it just for the effect it had on her. Knowing this didn't diminish the effect.

"You better let me watch sometime," she said. His fingers moved, stretching her, and then he pressed a third against her. "Oh god." Tseng got a hand up under her shirt and kneaded her breast.

"Of course," Rufus said smoothly. "Or we'll get Rude in here. I bet he'd look good all over Tseng." She shuddered. Tseng shuddered. Rufus got his third finger in. "Or Reno. I'm sure he'd have good creative suggestions."

"Oh, he would," Elena said, her mouth dry. "He would."

Rufus withdrew his fingers and then she felt the blunt head of his cock against her, slick and hot, nudging her open, and her throat went tight and she said, "I don't—"

"You can," Tseng said, encouraging. "Breathe. Relax. You can." She felt him twitch inside her, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

Rufus slid in, inch by slick inch, and after he pushed in past the opening she could feel the head of his cock rubbing not only against her but also against Tseng, through the thin barrier of her flesh. Tseng grunted and caught his breath. Rufus made a little needy noise. Elena fought the need to squirm. It was almost too much, very nearly too much—so full, so full—and yet _not_ too much. Just right. Just fucking perfect, all stretched out and filled up, so that every movement echoed up her spine and back down to her cunt.

"Go ahead," Rufus said. "Move."

She couldn't thrust properly, pinned as she was, but she writhed, and Tseng's hands landed on her hips again to help her, and Tseng and Rufus both thrust not quite in time with one another so she could feel them rubbing against one another through her body. Rufus purred; Tseng rumbled; between them, she couldn't hold back her moans, high and thin, hot, starved for breath.

"Keep going," Tseng said hoarsely, "keep moving, that's it—"

She was right on the edge of orgasm, almost there, and Rufus caught his breath and thrust a little out of rhythm, which rubbed him right against Tseng who growled and wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her down onto him, hard—and that was it: she rolled her head back and _screamed_, her thighs clenched and slicked with sweat. She shivered and trembled, rocking against both of them, and collapsed, shuddering, against Tseng's chest. Which lifted her ass again, and she groaned as they sped up, movements harder but not painful. Tseng went first, with a sound that she felt more then heard, and then Rufus, who settled his cheek against her shoulder when he was done, catching his breath.

They eased each other down before the position became painful—sticky hands on her clothes, and she said, "Your suit's never going to be the same, I don't think."

"I've got more," Rufus said.

Elena was sore, could hardly move, and couldn't stop grinning in a most un-Rufus-like way. Tseng stroked her sweaty hair back out of her face. "Next time," she said, "we gotta invite Reno and Rude."

"You want a cock in your _mouth_, too?" Rufus said, and then looked at her like he expected her to be indignant.

So she just said, "Maybe," and gave him her best smug smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Ponderosa suggested the idea to me. And given that it involves Elena, Turks, Rufus, crossdressing, and smut, how could I possibly not? ...especially given that it gave me a chance to work in something else I've been wanting to play with.


End file.
